


my spirit swims right to the hook

by napricot



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, First Time, Getting to Know Each Other, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Post-Black Panther (2018), Wakanda (Marvel), Wakandan Technology, Wakandan Tinder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/napricot/pseuds/napricot
Summary: “What’s this one?” asked Oson, poking at one of the kimoyo beads. M’Baku frowned down at it. He didn’t think the princess had offered an explanation of this one, at least, not beyond it offering a connection to the internet. Was this one for Wakanda’s internet, or the rest of the world’s? He toggled it on, and squinted as the unnecessarily bright hologram beamed up, proclaiming it to beHathor’s List. A little message offered an explanation:let Hathor guide your search for a partner, not your elders’ matchmaking! Find a perfect match, or a night of pleasure!Oh, that littlebrat, thought M’Baku.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/M'Baku
Comments: 116
Kudos: 389
Collections: CLOSE ENOUGH FEBRUARY 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The National's "Hairpin Turns." For the 7. Huddling for Warmth square of my Close Enough bingo card.
> 
> Way back during the Avengers Infinity War press tour, when Winston Duke, Anthony Mackie, and Sebastian Stan were thrown together for the press tour, a reporter asked them what Bucky had been doing in Wakanda since the end of Black Panther. [Winston Duke, bless him, suggested Wakandan Tinder](https://stevenrogered.tumblr.com/post/173198052827/what-do-you-think-bucky-has-been-doing-in-wakanda). Obviously, this struck me as a great excuse for M'Baku/Bucky fic. Two years later, I finally got around to writing it /o\
> 
> I am not quite done with this fic yet, but in the true spirit of Close Enough, I'm posting the first chapter now. Second chapter to follow by, uh, tomorrow night at the latest? HOPEFULLY.

“You know Lord M’Baku, if you’d given me some to work with, I could have tried making you a kimoyo bracelet out of your precious Jabari wood,” said Princess Shuri, all sweet guilelessness. “If it is as strong and as versatile as vibranium itself, as the Jabari say it is, then surely it would work and you would not have to adorn yourself with ‘subpar’ vibranium.”

M’Baku snorted and crossed his arms. The princess’s attempt at manipulation was clumsy, but judging by the mischief dancing in her eyes, she knew it was, and was inviting M’Baku in on the joke.

“You want to waste our most precious, sacred wood on such frivolities as this kimoyo bracelet?”

Shuri narrowed her eyes, her mischief disappearing in favor of tart and sharp rebuke, and the expression brought her resemblance to the queen mother in stark relief.

“Kimoyo beads are not frivolities,” she said. “They are necessities. Emergency beacons, medical care, communication, access to public and private lands...all are managed with the beads, and have been for centuries. This is no frivolous gift, Lord M’Baku, nor is it a chain of binding. It is welcoming you and your people back into Wakanda and its tribes, after so long set apart. Will you reject that welcome? If so, you are free to go back up to your mountains and stay there.”

M’Baku suppressed a smile. It was well-said, though it was also said with a heaping measure of intemperate, impertinent haste. He would have been well within his rights to take offense. But he had long since come to the same conclusion Shuri had, which was why he was here at all. If the Jabari were to survive, they needed the rest of the tribes, and if Wakanda was to survive as well, it would need all of its tribes united. Or at least, as united as they were ever going to get. M’Baku had sat through enough Council meetings by now to know that what united peace they had was quarrelsome and fractious, like siblings bickering for an elder’s favor.

He took the bracelet. “Peace, little princess. We know you offer the kimoyo beads in good faith. But before my whole tribe receives your gift, I intend to use and understand it first.”

“Fair enough,” said Shuri, her expression relaxing into her habitual good cheer again. “I’m happy to teach you.”

She was a patient enough teacher, to M’Baku’s surprise, and the construction of the bracelet itself was thoughtful.

“I have made the beads larger for you, as you have large hands and fingers, not all will need to be so big. If any among your people have issues with fine motor skills, or if they are amputees, the beads may be adjusted to meet their accessibility needs. Now, the prime bead is most important, and it is the one I will insist on your people having…”

Shuri showed him each bead and its use in turn: the prime bead that held all of one’s personal identification and records and which could be used in an emergency to summon aid, the medical bead that would assist in any medical emergencies, the recorder bead to record images and sounds whether for personal or public use, the communications bead allowing contact between all Wakandans…

“Can someone contact me at any time, for any purpose?” asked M’Baku with a frown.

He disliked the presumption inherent in the idea: that he could be interrupted at any time, by anybody, for any purpose, rather than petitioned as Lord of the Jabari through his council, or via a message that M’Baku could respond to at his leisure.

“Not if you don’t want them to. Here, there are many privacy options…”

And finally, Shuri showed him what she called the fun beads. “That isn’t their official name, of course, but these beads will give you access to all of the fun things: entertainment, music, the Wakandan internet, the global internet—though there is still a firewall set up there, so don’t go uploading all of Wakanda’s secrets…”

“We have the internet up in the mountains,” M’Baku told her, amused.

“What?”

“Satellites, you know?”

“ _What_?” she repeated.

“We have held ourselves apart, Princess, but we have not ignored the rest of the world. That would be the height of foolishness.”

There had always been those among the Jabari who have wandered and roamed beyond the mountains. Sometimes they came back, and sometimes they didn’t, but those who came back always brought something with them: new wood, new ideas, new foods, new people. Such a wanderer had brought the Jabari their god Hanuman, even. They didn’t disdain new things or the world beyond their mountains on principle, though in recent years, their isolation has been edging dangerously close to such fearful disdain. M’Baku intended to change that. Their survival depended upon it.

“Well, obviously, but what do you mean—”

“I thank you for the lesson, Princess Shuri,” he told her, bowing formally. “I will advise you if the Jabari have need of more kimoyo beads.”

* * *

M’Baku left the princess in her mountain laboratory and rejoined his retinue who awaited him outside. Together they made their way into the Golden City, to the Citadel where the Council was about to meet. Months after the usurper’s war, the plains surrounding Mount Bashenga bore no trace of battle or bloodshed. M’Baku remembered it all the same. Brief battle though it had been, it had still been M’Baku’s first, skirmishes with would-be intruders and poachers aside, and the memories sat bright and heavy within him: bright with pride, for the Jabari had acquitted themselves with honor in defense of T’Challa and Wakanda, but heavy with solemn sorrow and regret too. It was no easy thing to fight against kin, even distant and estranged kin. His younger self had hungered for such a battle, eager to avenge ancient slights against the Jabari, eager to prove himself. A taste of real battle, real war, had turned that old hunger to sour bile in his stomach. There would be no more war within Wakanda, if M’Baku could help it.

He murmured prayers to Hanuman on his path through the fields, in remembrance and in thanks for his new knowledge, until they reached the Golden City.

Today’s meeting of the Council of Elders was an important one: after months of preparation and debate and detailed reports, the tribes were to cast their votes on whether Wakanda would reveal its true self to the world. M’Baku had skipped a good half of these meetings, after announcing _the Jabari have already decided what our vote will be. We have no need to keep coming down the mountain to hear you lot bicker._ T’Challa had nodded in acknowledgment, his jaw going tight, his mouth almost frowning with disappointment. He thought he knew what the Jabari vote would be. Hah. Arrogant of him to assume. M’Baku was looking very much forward to his surprise.

When he arrived in the Throne Room, he gave T’Challa a toothy smile, which T’Challa returned with a thin and nervous smile of his own. M’Baku took his seat and settled in. He fiddled with his new kimoyo beads while he waited for the meeting to begin, swiping through the assorted informational displays that were projected above the bracelet in a discreet hologram: the time, a little map of his current location, the weather...M’Baku snorted. All information that could be just as easily gleaned by taking a step outside or exerting one’s own abilities. The time-wasting served its purpose though: when M’Baku looked up, he saw the other tribes’ representatives casting glances at him and murmuring, eyebrows ever so slightly raised at the sight of a Jabari with kimoyo beads on his wrist. He smiled back at them, settled more comfortably in his seat. _I belong here too_.

The vote itself was largely a formality, at this point. The tribes’ positions were well-known by now, and no vote save M’Baku’s was likely to be a surprise. The Panther Tribe would say yes, of course, as would the River Tribe given their close alliance to the Panthers, and the Border Tribe would too, having neatly trapped themselves into such a vote thanks to their brief rebellion. After supporting a usurper who had planned to go to war with the world, the Border Tribe could not now claim they sought to stay hidden, not without losing even more face than they already had. The Mining Tribe would say no, thinking only of protecting their precious vibranium, and the Merchant Tribe would follow. T’Challa would, therefore, anticipate a tie, believing the Jabari would vote no too. As king and Bast’s avatar, T’Challa would be the tiebreaker, but M’Baku knew T’Challa did not relish the role. A tied vote was a badly divided vote, and it was far from a strong foundation for such a fundamental change. T’Challa would find himself more indebted to M’Baku and the Jabari for breaking the tie. Which wasn’t the whole purpose of voting yes, but was certainly a significant consideration.

If M’Baku was to bring his people back into the Wakandan fold, and out into the world too, he would not do so with half measures. They would take the strongest position they could among the tribes of Wakanda.

Once the ceremonies and traditions and greetings had been observed, the vote began. It went just as expected, and just as expected, when it was M’Baku’s turn to speak the Jabari vote, T’Challa’s expression was one of grim resolve.

“The Jabari say yes,” M’Baku said, leaning back in his seat as if it was his own throne.

T’Challa blinked rapidly, his mouth falling open in shock for long seconds before he gathered his control again. M’Baku basked in the expression as if it were the first ray of sunshine after a blizzard.

“The Jabari, who have lived apart in the mountains for centuries, say yes,” said the Mining Tribe elder, in tones of stark disbelief.

M’Baku nods. “We do.”

“ _Why_?” demanded the Merchant Tribe elder.

“It is one thing to choose to live apart, to keep to our ways and traditions, to limit those we will allow onto our lands and into our tribes. It is another to hide, to cower for fear of discovery. What honor is there in that? What pride?” He looked around, met each elder’s and representative’s eyes. “Wakanda has been hiding for many long centuries. The world has grown smaller and smaller, while the universe has proven itself large and full of dangers, attacks being waged on our Earth from beyond the stars. Better to choose now, to reveal ourselves now, on our terms, united as a people, then to wait until the choice is made for us. So say the Jabari.”

M’Baku thought this reasoning carried some weight with the Merchant Tribe, but he only spared their elder a glance before locking eyes with T’Challa. M’Baku had said little that T’Challa hadn’t already said. But M’Baku’s words had their own gravity apart from T’Challa’s, and they might catch others in their orbit where T’Challa had failed. M’Baku wanted T’Challa to know it.

“And the king and Panther Tribe say yes. So it is done. Wakanda will reveal itself to the world. Now, let us speak of how…”

The practicalities and specifics took up the rest of the day, until they adjourned for the evening to finalize the proposed course of action the next day. As the assorted council members beat hasty retreats, undoubtedly to return to their tribes with all the news and gossip, T’Challa put a hand on M’Baku’s arm to hold him back.

“Thank you, Lord M’Baku.”

M’Baku shrugged. “What is there to thank me for? My vote was in the best interests of my people.”

“Of course,” said T’Challa with a gracious tilt of his head. “If you had won the challenge, would you have chosen this course of action? Would you have opened Wakanda to the world?”

“Yes,” said M’Baku, and had the sincere pleasure of seeing T’Challa surprised again. “I said it earlier, my king. There is no honor in continuing to hide. There may come a time, too soon, when it could cost us everything.”

“Do the priests and priestesses of Hanuman prophecy so?” asked T’Challa, his voice mild but his eyes sharp.

“No, they watch the world’s news. Alien invasions leave an impression, you know? If the entire planet is conquered, Wakanda will not receive a reprieve.”

“No, we will not,” agreed T’Challa. “I thank you anyway, Lord M’Baku. Your support is meaningful to me.” His eyes took in M’Baku’s new kimoyo bracelet. “I hope my sister’s gift is well-received?”

“It is. Whether it’s all that useful to the Jabari…” M’Baku shrugged. “That remains to be seen.”

* * *

There was a grand feast in the evening, because of course the day had not had enough pomp and circumstance already, but the food was good, the vegetarian options plentiful, the beer not as good as Jabari brew, but tolerable. M’Baku and his retinue dined well, and then retired to the suite in the Citadel provided for them.

“So? Have we served the Jabari well?” M’Baku asked his tribespeople, and when they spoke, he listened.

* * *

By the time they finished, it was late enough that they were all yawning.

“Ey, so when do the rest of us get one of those fancy bracelets, eh?” asked Ifedayo, flicking her fingers at M’Baku’s kimoyo beads.

“Once I’ve used them properly,” M’Baku said.

“Let’s see then!” said Mobori, and the others chimed in, their exhaustion fading in favor of interest.

M’Baku obliged them with a demonstration of each kimoyo bead. The prime bead and medical beads received the most approval, for they would surely prove a blessing in the mountains, where avalanches and rockslides were not uncommon. The rest, M’Baku was not yet certain of. They were either duplicative of Jabari technology, or simply unnecessary, and he said as much.

“What’s this one?” asked Oson, poking at one of the kimoyo beads. M’Baku frowned down at it. He didn’t think the princess had offered an explanation of this one, at least, not beyond it offering a connection to the internet. Was this one for Wakanda’s internet, or the rest of the world’s? He toggled it on, and squinted as the unnecessarily bright hologram beamed up, proclaiming it to be _Hathor’s List_. A little message offered an explanation: _let Hathor guide your search for a partner, not your elders’ matchmaking! Find a perfect match, or a night of pleasure!_

Oh, that little _brat_ , thought M’Baku.

“Oh ho ho, you said the Princess gave this to you? It seems she thinks you need some help in matters of love!” chortled Ifedayo.

Mobori didn’t join the chorus of laughter, instead peering at Hathor’s List with intent interest. “Well, this is part of why we are rejoining Wakanda’s tribes, is it not? If we don’t supplement our population, our bloodlines will die out for lack of people in the next couple of centuries.”

Somehow, M’Baku doubted that Princess Shuri had thoughtfully included a matchmaker kimoyo bead for the sake of diversifying the shrinking Jabari gene pool. And yet, Mobori wasn’t wrong. The tipping point was still far in the future, but it undeniably existed: there would come a point where there were too few Jabari to sustain a healthy tribe, and it was M’Baku’s duty to avoid that fate. The Jabari could not survive and thrive if they stayed isolated in their mountains.

“You are ruining it,” whined Oson. “This seemed like good fun until you made it about the survival of our people.”

M’Baku thumbed the kimoyo bead’s display off. “It is just the princess’s ill-considered joke. To bed with all of you, we are in for yet more meetings and conferences tomorrow!”

* * *

With the pivotal vote decided, the next day’s business was of the boring yet necessary sort. Each tribe would need to make its own preparations for Wakanda’s unveiling, even the Jabari. T’Challa had other matters of state to present to the Council as well: there was the matter of the Sokovia Accords and the trial of T’Chaka’s murderer, among other matters.

“I believe Wakanda should withdraw its support for the Accords,” said T’Challa. “After the events in Vienna, I have grave misgivings about their implementation…”

M’Baku sighed. Why T’Chaka had ever thought the Accords were a good idea, M’Baku didn’t know. The so-called superheroes popping up all over the world were warriors if they were anything, and no battle was won by committee. Either way, it was none of the Jabaris’ concern. They would fight by the superheroes’ side if some fresh disaster or alien invasion rendered it necessary, and no UN-drafted Accords would matter then.

It was only after the mid-day break that matters became marginally more interesting.

“I would like to petition the Council to grant sanctuary to an outsider,” said T’Challa. With one twist of his kimoyo beads and a flick of his fingers, he sent a file to the whole of the Council. Convenient, thought M’Baku, and let the file scroll across his own bracelet’s display. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, who is currently in the care of Princess Shuri and Healer Thandiwe.”

A genteel sort of uproar followed, and T’Challa raised his hand for silence. “Please, review the materials I have provided for you first.”

There was silence then, at least for a few minutes before the murmurs of dismay and discontent began again. M’Baku did not join the chatter, and just read the material provided instead, though the information contained in it did draw out a groan from him. Of course T’Challa wanted to grant sanctuary to the man who’d been falsely accused of T’Chaka’s murder, and who, incidentally, was a former brainwashed assassin. Was the man ever capable of doing things the easy way, wondered M’Baku.

Still, he couldn’t help but note that it was the most honorable course of action, given that T’Challa’s actions _had_ helped get the unfortunate man captured for a crime he was innocent of. There was some recompense owed to this Sergeant Barnes for that. Sanctuary in Wakanda though...he continued reviewing the file.

“A sad story to be sure. You do not need Council approval, even if he is a wanted fugitive,” remarked the River Tribe elder, his words neutral enough, but his expression disapproving.

T’Challa nodded, accepting the point. “I believe the evidence is clear as to his innocence. He is wanted for actions not under his control, and will likely find no justice or healing in the world outside these borders. But it is as you say, I am within my rights as King to offer him personal sanctuary. So I will clarify: it is not only a temporary sanctuary I wish to offer Sergeant Barnes. I wish to grant him citizenship.”

M’Baku looked up from the file, which even after a brief perusal made for stomach-turning reading, his mid-day meal churning unpleasantly in his gut.

“What, because you almost murdered the man in error? You can buy him a home in the city of his choice, you needn’t burden Wakanda with him for the sake of your own guilt,” he said.

“It would be no burden,” insisted T’Challa. “And it is the right thing to do.”

The Council continued looking through the file, murmuring in shock or disgust or dismay every so often, but otherwise silent. Even lacking in detail as it was, clearly reduced down to a spare summary, the file was a chronicle of depravity and brutality, all visited on a once-honorable soldier who could not have deserved any of it. The world outside Wakanda’s borders was a place of unimaginable cruelties, and M’Baku couldn’t help but wonder now if unveiling Wakanda was a good idea at all. Tragic as this Sergeant Barnes’ situation was, it didn’t need to be Wakanda’s business, especially not if it would expose their people to such dangers and cruelties.

The other tribes’ representatives barraged T’Challa with questions about the security and political implications of harboring Barnes (potentially complex, but resolvable along with the Sokovia Accords, was T’Challa’s answer), whether he was dangerous (as dangerous as any warrior, but thanks to Princess Shuri’s work, no longer bound by HYDRA’s mental shackles, came T’Challa’s ready response), and why this particular man. T’Challa’s answer to this last question caught M’Baku’s attention.

“Because we can help him where others cannot. Because we can offer him safety he would find nowhere else.”

M’Baku narrowed his eyes at T’Challa. He thought he saw now the shape of what T’Challa was attempting, the bold yet seemingly innocuous opening gambit on a complex board of Go. And yet, for all that this was a calculated political machination, it was also a wholly earnest gesture. T’Challa truly did think offering this man a home was the right thing to do. That it was also forming the first support for a bridge to allow more refugees in equally dire straits in was a bonus. The other tribes must have realized the same thing, or something similar, because the discontent eased into something more neutral.

Eventually, the Mining Tribe elder said, “The Mining Tribe would not gainsay the King’s offer of sanctuary.”

The other tribes added their agreement, and, after dismissing the grim and distressing file, so did M’Baku. T’Challa could afford to indulge his guilt by offering Barnes sanctuary. And one convalescing soldier could not possibly pose too large a threat to Wakanda, even if he had been some sort of superpowered assassin. They could always kick the man out if he proved too much of a risk.

“And of citizenship?” pressed T’Challa. “I will not grant it without the Council’s approval, given my personal interest in the matter.”

“Such decisions are premature, surely,” demurred the River Tribe, and the others agreed.

M’Baku raised a wry eyebrow at T’Challa. He couldn’t blame T’Challa for pushing his advantage while he had it on the heels of the vote for unveiling, but the Council was right: to grant some foreigner with a sad story citizenship now was premature. And Wakanda was likely not yet ready to speak of taking more people in, no matter how impatient T’Challa was for the conversation.

T’Challa accepted the Council’s mild rebuke with a chagrined nod.

“I accept the Council’s wisdom. Sergeant Barnes will remain in the Panther Tribe’s charge.A few final matters for your attention: the next roster of War Dog assignments will need adjustment in light of our tentative timeline for unveiling…”

* * *

At that night’s feast, when M’Baku was watching the dancing, T’Challa joined him.

“You surprised me yet again today, Lord M’Baku,” he said.

“Did I, now.”

“I did not think you would support offering Sergeant Barnes sanctuary.”

M’Baku shrugged. “It is your tribe’s business who you take in. Me, I would have discharged my debt and my duty by setting the man up safely elsewhere, but I am not king, now am I. Nor am I seeking to convince Wakanda to take in more outsiders.”

“It was that obvious?” said T’Challa with a smile.

“It was.”

“And what do the Jabari think of the idea?”

“We think you are asking a great deal of us as it is,” said M’Baku, making sure to imbue some warning in his tone.

T’Challa accepted this with a nod. “I know. I, and Wakanda, are grateful for your support and your return to the tribes. We welcome you for more than your support in battle, you know.”

“Good,” declared M’Baku. “Wakanda should have no more need for battles, not among our own at least.”

“Hopefully we will have no need of battles at all,” said T’Challa.

M’Baku couldn’t quite share such optimism, but he offered T’Challa a toast to it anyway. 

* * *

M’Baku asked nothing of his people that he was not willing to give or do himself, at least so long as it was within his abilities. Which meant that even after the Council meetings were over and adjourned for another couple of months, he periodically returned to the Golden City, unaccompanied, to learn more of what Wakanda had become during the Jabari Tribe’s long absence. For though most of the Jabari intended to stay in their beloved mountains and mountain valleys, some would seek knowledge and novelty and partners here in the rest of Wakanda, and M’Baku wanted to know what they would find.

His trips taught him that they would find a bustling, vibrant city, full of colorful markets and a thriving, busy university, and people from all four of the other tribes of Wakanda. They would find a thrumming sense of excitement and anxiety over Wakanda’s upcoming unveiling, and many lively debates. They would not find Hanuman or Jabari wood, nor would they find the stillness of the mountain’s high places. But nor, M’Baku thought, would they find disdain either. Some judicious questioning and conversation with assorted city denizens revealed that Jabari support of T’Challa, and T’Challa’s support of the Jabari, had eased many old suspicions and prejudices.

And too, M’Baku noted wryly, there were plenty of younger folks who had no idea why the Jabari Tribe’s separation had even begun nor why it had persisted. The tribes’ memories were long, but a taste of real civil war had galled many, just as it had M’Baku. The Jabari would find a welcome here, M’Baku concluded: a cautious and hesitant welcome, perhaps, but a welcome nonetheless.

On his last trip before Wakanda’s unveiling, it occurred to M’Baku that there was at least one more thing he needed to scout for his people. For though it may have simply been the princess’s mischief, the fact remained: the Jabari might well have need of the matchmaking nonsense that was the Hathor’s List kimoyo bead. If this was how the rest of Wakanda found partners now, the Jabari would need to adapt.

So when he was alone in his room at one of the Golden City’s guest houses, M’Baku thumbed open the program, confronted yet again by the bright colors and not-so-sly insinuations, and the baffling use of a deity Wakanda had never worshipped. While gods traveled as they liked, or were carried by their faithful, Egypt’s Hathor had never reached Wakanda. To use her smiling, sun-crowned face for the purposes of a frivolous lovematch artificial intelligence struck M’Baku as insufficiently respectful, even if the goddess in question was no longer an object of worship.

He cast up an apologetic, silent prayer to poor, diminished Hathor, and perused her eponymous program. It seemed straightforward enough: people would fill in an assortment of information, as detailed or vague as they wished, and the artificial intelligence named Hathor would suggest potential matches. Choosing one of these matches would alert the match, and then a conversation or meeting would follow from there. It all seemed like an unnecessary technological complication of what should have been a matter of personal connection. If M’Baku wanted a partner, whether long term or for a few nights of mutual pleasure, he could find one at any festival or cafe or meeting place. He had no need for some construct of artificial intelligence to do it for him. And if he was so inclined, he could even leave it to the tribal elders to secure a match for him. This Hathor’s List seemed wholly unnecessary, to his mind.

His kimoyo bead chimed, and he startled. A message beamed up from Hathor’s List: _you have a match!_ He frowned down at it. How could he have a match? He hadn’t actually provided the damned bead with any information. And yet, upon closer examination, it seemed he had: there was a profile prepared for him, complete with a photo—one M’Baku certainly hadn’t been aware of even being taken—of him reading over a report in the Citadel, and other information he had never provided.

Parts of the profile were accurate enough: his height, that he was a vegetarian, that he enjoyed hiking and other vigorous physical activity, that he enjoyed working with animals, that he was a traditional sort of man, devoted to his tribe, and that he preferred a simpler kind of life, free of excessive technological enhancements and in harmony with the land. Other parts were sheer fabrication: the sort of partner he was looking for ( _fun! modern! ready to show me new things!_ ), his courting activity preferences ( _let’s go on an adventure! or let’s stay in if you know what I mean and I think you do_ ), and all other manner of trivial nonsense that did not sound like him at all. What it did sound like though, was Princess Shuri.

He stood, fully intending to stride out of the guesthouse and up to Mount Bashenga. He would give that presumptuous brat a piece of his mind, and he’d make sure her brother the king heard about it too. How _dare_ she sign him up for this Hathor’s List nonsense, as if he either required or wanted assistance in finding a partner—

Another message chimed: _you have a match!_

M’Baku paused, considered. If he stormed into the princess’s lab, he would surely be doing just what she’d expected him to do. She would cackle at his outrage, tease him more, and only if M’Baku made a show of being offended enough would she turn contrite, assuring him that she’d only meant to show him how to use Hathor’s List.

The bead chimed again: yet another match.

M’Baku didn’t like being predictable. And shouldn’t he fully test Hathor’s List, to see if it was suitable for the Jabari? If he was to reject the princess’s attempt to meddle in his affairs and needle his temper, should he not do so from a position of strength, with complete knowledge?

He opened Hathor’s List and perused his matches. The AI had selected a number of attractive people as potential good matches. M’Baku was even forced to grudgingly admit that the AI had chosen well enough, given its incomplete information. Mostly though, he was pleased to find that those using Hathor’s List seemed to be accomplished, serious-minded people, who were clear about their desires and expectations. There was an even enough split between those seeking a few nights of pleasure and those seeking a more serious commitment, information that was either stated plainly in their profiles, or implied by the use of a pseudonym rather than a real name. Shuri, M’Baku noted with annoyed amusement, had given him a pseudonym that wasn’t much of a pseudonym at all: _Lord of the Mountain_.

As he wondered whether surprising Princess Shuri and performing some reconnaissance for his tribe were sufficient justification for actually following up on one of his matches, another match notification appeared. He’d gathered by now that the AI prioritized mutual interest; it would provide possible matches, but only once all parties chose such a match would any more significant interaction begin.

He would at least check those matches who had indicated an interest in him, M’Baku decided. If he liked any of them, maybe he’d even confirm the match. All in the name of gathering information for his tribe, of course. Though a night of mutually pleasurable companionship wouldn’t go amiss either…

Hathor’s List had a half-dozen mutual matches waiting for him, and M’Baku perused them carefully: a university professor with a too serious face…no, she was seeking a partner to raise a child with; a Merchant Tribe artist with a reckless sort of grin and laughing eyes…maybe. His next match genuinely shocked him: it was Sergeant Barnes, the king’s tragic white man. His profile was under the pseudonym of White Wolf, but M’Baku recognized him easily from the files T’Challa had provided.

Was this more of Princess Shuri’s mischief? Or had this foreigner truly initiated a match with M’Baku? He was caught between being offended at Barnes’ presumption and being impressed by his boldness.

M’Baku perused the man’s sparse and understated profile, examined the single image on it, of Barnes outside somewhere, caught in a candid moment of calm as he looked out at a serene lake. Once one got over the shocking whiteness of Barnes’ skin, he was handsome enough, M’Baku supposed, and he had truly lovely eyes, in a rare, pale shade like ice over deep water. Those eyes were sorrowful things, but they had wrinkles in the corners that spoke of joy, and there was a quirk to his lips that seemed to invite you in on a secret jest.

It was the message in Barnes’ profile that made M’Baku’s decision for him: _pretty sure a friend set this thing up for me as a joke, but joke’s on her, because I’m absolutely using it. Do you want to have the exciting experience of being my first date in 70+ years?? If so, send me a message._

_Bold_ , thought M’Baku. Foolhardy too, perhaps, given the man’s status as a fugitive who was here in Wakanda for sanctuary. But M’Baku was undeniably interested, curious: both about the man himself, and whether this was all some plot of the princess’s, taken too far. And if it was no plot or prank, well…never let it be said that M’Baku of the Jabari shirked from either change, a challenge, or his duty. If he could use Hathor’s List to make an agreeable match with a white foreigner, however temporary, then surely the Jabari could manage to use it to find good matches with their fellow Wakandans. And if he managed to shock and surprise Princess Shuri and the king, that would only be a potentially hilarious bonus.

M’Baku confirmed the match.

* * *

After exchanging a few straightforward messages, M’Baku and Barnes—Bucky, rather, for that was the name he’d gently insisted on—met at the park nearest to M’Baku’s guesthouse.

M’Baku made sure to arrive at the park early to secure one of the benches with the best vantage of the whole park, which meant that when Bucky arrived, M’Baku had plenty of time to appraise the man while he approached. He was dressed in the mishmash of modern and traditional styles that M’Baku had come to recognize as the norm among those living in the Golden City or near it, the sort of thing that likely would not stand out too much even outside Wakanda’s borders: pants and boots, with a black long-sleeved tunic stitched with one of the Panther Tribe’s patterns and a boldly blue scarf draped around his left shoulder where his arm was missing. Each item of clothing told its own story, and M’Baku wondered if Bucky knew quite how much he was giving away: that the tunic he wore said he was a ward of the Panther Tribe, entitled to its protection, that the handwoven blue scarf around his shoulders spoke of at least one member of the Border Tribe’s affection, that his boots and pants marked him as someone who had traveled outside Wakanda’s borders just as surely as his pale skin marked him as other.

It was nothing M’Baku had not already known or guessed, so he turned his attention to the rest of Bucky. He moved with an easy, loping grace, as unhurried as the best of predators, and even from a distance, his pale eyes caught M’Baku’s attention. Yes, he would do, thought M’Baku. M’Baku wouldn’t be opposed to passing a night or two of hopefully vigorous pleasure with a man like that, if he was willing.

And if he wasn’t, well, M’Baku expected the conversation and the knowledge he could glean from it would be more than worthwhile. 

“Hi, M’Baku, right?” Bucky asked when he was within speaking distance, and M’Baku nodded, standing to greet him.

Bucky was shorter than him—most people were—but only by a hand length or so; his only acknowledgment of the height difference was to give M’Baku a swift, appraising glance, part warrior’s assessment and part pure appreciation. _So it’s like that, eh?_ thought M’Baku, pleased desire beginning to curl low in his belly.

“Yes, and you are Bucky Barnes,” M’Baku said, careful with the unfamiliar rhythm of his name.

There was a moment of awkwardness as they negotiated different greetings—Bucky offering his hand for a handshake as M’Baku pulled him in for a proper warrior’s handclasp—but it passed easily enough when Bucky grinned, fast and shy.

“Sorry,” Bucky said. “Figure that’s not going to be the first thing I mess up, this is all pretty new to me.”

M’Baku tipped his head towards the park’s walking path in silent invitation, and Bucky nodded. They fell into step, Bucky matching M’Baku’s leisurely pace through the park’s lush greenery, some of the noisy bustle of the city slowly being replaced by birdsong the further they went.

“Wakanda or dates?”

“Both,” said Bucky with a wry smile. “Especially with, uh, this Hathor’s List thing. I guess this is how people do it now? With, um, apps and things?”

“Apparently,” said M’Baku, unable to entirely keep the disapproval out of his voice, which Bucky clearly noticed.

“And yet you’re using it,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“For much the same reason you are. I was provided with Hathor’s List as a joke, of sorts, and I found I didn’t wish to be the butt of said joke.”

“Yeah, me neither. And I figured, you know, why not give it a try, have some fun for once. Used to do this kind of thing all the time.”

The stubborn determination on Bucky’s face and the sudden steel in his voice belied his casual words. M’Baku suspected that just as he himself did, Bucky had more motives for this assignation than a simple desire to have fun and confound the princess.

“What, walk in the park with a stranger?” asked M’Baku, and Bucky shrugged.

“Not exactly,” he said, an almost secretive smile turning the words warm. “Went dancing, did a lot of drinking, went places I had no business going to do things I definitely shouldn’t have been doing: the usual kinda thing young idiots get up to.”

“Ah, and now you are a venerable elder who can only manage a sedate turn about the park. Time is truly the greatest thief.”

In the second of silence that followed, M’Baku had enough time to worry that the joke had been ill-considered enough to cause Bucky to take offense, but then Bucky laughed, the sound as shockingly sweet as dawn’s birdsong after a long winter night.

“Venerable elder, that’s me,” he said, then he tilted his head up to meet M’Baku’s eyes, an inviting and sly curve to his lips. “Think I can manage something a little more strenuous than a walk in the park though, if you’re up for it.” 

The promise of heat in Bucky’s eyes and low voice got M’Baku’s blood up. It really had been some time since he’d shared a few hours of uncomplicated pleasure with a partner. His duties had kept him too busy of late. And, M’Baku recalled, Bucky was stronger than his lean frame suggested, if he had been able to meet the Black Panther’s strength. They could have a strenuous night together indeed, in the best way.

“That’s a challenge I’ll gladly accept.”

* * *

They took their time in making their way to M’Baku’s room in the guesthouse. There was a pleasure in letting anticipation build, in walking close enough to feel each other’s warmth, in casting quick glances at each other, catching each other at it, and then letting their eyes linger. There was no point in playing coy, after all; they knew what they wanted from each other.

It was only when they reached M’Baku’s room that Bucky hesitated, lingering at the threshold as he fidgeted with his tunic.

“We don’t have to fuck if you don’t want to,” M’Baku told him bluntly, for he had no interest in an unwilling or even undecided partner.

“I want to,” said Bucky, eyes wide and worried. “Just—it’s been a long time. For me. And I haven’t, since—” he gestured at his left shoulder.

“Ah,” said M’Baku. “It makes no difference to me. I believe we can find plenty of ways to please each other with only three hands between us.”

They had done plenty of looking at each other on the way here, and yet now, Bucky looked again, and it was a different kind of stare, long and intense and searching, nearly unnerving with those pale eyes of his, the color of a cloudy twilight sky. M’Baku bore the scrutiny and looked right back, and saw that what should have been a carefree assignation, free of any expectations beyond a shared physical release, was demanding more bravery from this man than M’Baku had expected. It was evident in the way Bucky was biting his temptingly red lower lip, in the restless wringing motion of his hand in his tunic’s hem. He remembered, then, the files he had so quickly perused, the cruelty they had contained. Yes, he understood why this one step might demand more courage than entering battle.

M’Baku only waited. This last step was Bucky’s to take. And, with one deep breath and an almost defiant tilt of his jaw, he took that step and more besides, as he entered the room and swiftly strode to where M’Baku was standing beside the bed, and without hesitation, he brought his hand to the back of M’Baku’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

Here was boldness, thought M’Baku, as Bucky pressed hot and urgent against him, his mouth opening for M’Baku without shame or reservation. M’Baku had half thought to be gentle with Bucky, as he would be with any partner who was less experienced or nervous, but there was no gentleness in this kiss, only wild abandon and reckless heat, and oh, it had been a long time since M’Baku had indulged in that, and he gave himself up to it, matching Bucky’s passion. His grip on the back of M’Baku’s neck was so strong as to be nearly bruising, and that sent a thrill rushing down M’Baku’s spine, urged him on to place his own hands on Bucky’s slim waist and hold tightly. This earned him a pleased moan from Bucky, and that was it, that was all they both needed to spark this heat into a conflagration.

They shed clothes with haste and without care, until they were naked and taking each other in with hungry eyes. The whiteness of Bucky’s skin was shocking all over again, but skin was skin, and his was a tempting expanse of canvas over taut and lithe muscle, to say nothing of his cock, already half hard. There were scars too, of course, all around his left shoulder where some sort of protective cap was fitted over where the joint terminated. The scars were pitted and ropy and less healed than M’Baku had expected, still pink and a little raw looking.

Bucky noticed him looking, tension making his shoulders rise, and M’Baku said, “You must tell me if I hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he said, and relaxed again, favoring M’Baku with a frank and appreciative gaze as he reached for him.

Then there was the always awkward business of getting themselves situated on the bed and fetching supplies. M’Baku was accustomed to being careful with partners; he was bigger than most, and that demanded caution when his partners were slimmer or smaller, but Bucky, it seemed, was heedless of any such care. He urged M’Baku on top of him, gripped him tight and close as they kissed and kissed, their breath coming fast as it passed between them, until they were rocking against each other, both their cocks hard.

“How do you want it?” M’Baku asked, and lined their cocks up together, taking them both in hand as giving them both one long, leisurely stroke, enough to make Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as he moaned.

When he opened his eyes again, they’d gone dark, only a slim ring of blue showing. “I want you to fuck me,” he said, low and hoarse, and M’Baku grinned.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said.

M’Baku directed Bucky to lay on his side, and took a moment to admire the sight: the curve of his ass, the way his broad, muscled back tapered down to a slim waist, the dip in the small of his back. Then he fetched the oil and spread it on his fingers, and set about working Bucky open. Even with M’Baku using only one finger, Bucky let out one long sigh, all his taut muscles going loose and languid except for the ring of tight heat that surrounded M’Baku’s finger. It wasn’t long before Bucky pushed, impatient for more, and M’Baku gave it to him, relishing the small sounds Bucky made when he pressed in especially deep, each little sigh and moan a goad to M’Baku’s own desire.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you bein’ a gentleman,” slurred Bucky, “But you can just fuck me now.”

“Oh, can I?” said MBaku, and then he bent down to suck a hard and bruising kiss against the tempting spot where Bucky’s neck met his shoulder, and Bucky arched against him, finally moaning long and loud.

“Please,” gasped Bucky, and something about the rawness of the plea drew a groan from M’Baku.

“Very well,” he said, and pulled his fingers free. “On your knees then,” he said, but it seemed Bucky had other ideas, for with a speed and strength M’Baku could scarcely credit, he rolled onto his back and positioned M’Baku on top of him.

“Uh uh, like this,” Bucky said, and oh, the sight of his face made it very tempting indeed, his pale skin flushed pink, his eyes glassy.

“I’d rather not crush you,” said M’Baku, for there was a reason he didn’t often attempt this position with partners, but Bucky only scoffed and wrapped his legs around M’Baku’s waist.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, that sly and secret smile curving his lips. “You really won’t. C’mon, fuck me.”

Well, if he was going to make it sound like a _challenge_ …M’Baku settled himself into the right position, his too-hard cock lined up to push into Bucky, and with one thrust, he slid into that welcoming heat, and then his hips were moving almost of their own volition, cock seeking deeper and deeper purchase.

“Fuck,” said Bucky, then he wrapped his arm around M’Baku’s shoulder and held on tight. “Harder, c’mon, I can take it.”

M’Baku obliged him, settling into a steady rhythm and thrusting in deep every time, winning a short, gasping moan from Bucky every time, the heat of Bucky’s own cock brushing against his stomach in tempting, too glancing touches. Bucky’s arm pressed him still closer, his strength unyielding, his legs tight around M’Baku’s waist, and that turned M’Baku’s rhythm wild, heedless, had him matching Bucky’s moans with his own.

For a moment, M’Baku felt as if both of them were one long, hard pulse of need, nothing but the beat of blood and desire pounding through them, until finally M’Baku rocked into Bucky with one last deep thrust and came so hard it turned his vision bright and sparkling. He had just enough presence of mind to avoid collapsing on top of Bucky, rolling to the side instead, and watched with heavy lidded eyes and heaving chest as Bucky stroked himself fast and rough to completion, sighing as he spent all over his own stomach.

They were silent then, save for their still loud breaths, until Bucky made a sweet and satisfied sort of humming sound, and rolled over to kiss M’Baku, and M’Baku learned the shape of that secret smile of his felt against his lips, brought his hands up and traced the way it made the corners of his eyes crease. After a few more kisses, M’Baku fetched a cloth to clean them up.

“God, you really are a gentleman,” said Bucky, and reached for the cloth. “Here, I can do that, you’re the one who just did all the work—”

M’Baku only tutted and twitched the cloth from Bucky’s grasp. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Work?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Effort, whatever, here—”

M’Baku didn’t give him the cloth though; he enjoyed doing this for partners, when he could, had always found it made things less awkward, and it did so now too, as Bucky sighed and went pliant under the strokes of the cloth. Once he finished, he half-expected Bucky to leave; M’Baku himself likely would have, had this not been his own room, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that Bucky instead draped himself over M’Baku and kissed him more, something like hunger in it—not quite desperation, but maybe an intent focus instead, as if he needed to commit each kiss to memory. M’Baku was happy to let him, happy to let his hands roam over the hot skin of Bucky’s back and rest on his ass, kneading the firm muscle there until Bucky moaned into his mouth.

To his surprise, he felt Bucky’s cock harden again.

“To think I called you a venerable elder, and here you are, ready to go again like some eager youth,” teased M’Baku, and yet, he felt his own desire stir in response, though his cock was not quite up to it just yet.

Bucky just pressed down against him, a steady weight. On impulse, M’Baku reached up to bury his hand in Bucky’s hair, marveling at the slippery soft texture as he worked the hair tie holding it back free. With the hair tie out, Bucky’s hair fell in a bark-brown curtain around his face, and tickled M’Baku’s cheeks when he bent down for another kiss.

When he pulled back, he smiled down at M’Baku. “Yeah, let’s just say there’s at least one good side effect of being a goddamn medical experiment.” He kissed at M’Baku’s jaw and his neck, nipping just a little, the sensation like pleasurable bright sparks. “Do you mind?”

“Not if you do the work,” he said, and lifted his hips, tilted them up in invitation, and Bucky grinned, as wolfish as his pseudonym.

“Gladly,” said Bucky, voice a low rumble that made M’Baku suppress a shiver.

M’Baku fumbled for the bottle of oil until he found it, and popped open the lid. “Get to it then, White Wolf,” he said, and Bucky sat back on his heels, threw his head back, and laughed.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, and held his hand out for the oil, then he did indeed set to work, until it was M’Baku who was gasping and demanding he go harder and faster, ferociously delighted when Bucky met the challenge with no sign of flagging.

* * *

In the trembling aftermath of his third climax of the night, M’Baku summoned up enough presence of mind to send a most sincere prayer of thanks to Hathor for this small, earthly miracle of an impossibly, delightfully long night of pleasure.

“Hmm, did you say something?” mumbled Bucky sleepily. It had taken hours, but finally even his admirable stamina was ebbing, leaving him draped over M’Baku’s chest like a very warm, slightly bony blanket. Honestly, was the Panther Tribe not feeding the man?

He patted clumsily at Bucky’s tangled hair. “Just thanking Hathor. It seems she is not a diminished goddess after all if her namesake can lead to a night like this.”

Bucky hummed, the happy sound vibrating against M’Baku’s chest. “Technology is so great, the future is great,” he said, and then he was asleep, and the even puffs of his breath lulled M’Baku into slumber too.

* * *

In the morning, Bucky turned solemn, his changeable eyes the color of a thawing river.

“Thank you,” he said, in that soft and low voice of his.

M’Baku wasn’t often thanked for a night of pleasure, not with such seriousness anyway. “For what?” he asked.

Bucky rose from the bed and knelt gracefully to fetch his clothing before sitting on the bed. The bruises from their decidedly, pleasurably vigorous night were already gone, his skin a pale, clean canvas once more.

“It’s been a long time since I—since anyone—” Bucky kept his gaze averted, his tangled hair falling to cover his face. M’Baku reached out to brush it back, earning a bare twitch of a smile before Bucky took a deep breath and looked at him straight on. “I was—hurt—or, people hurt me, and—anyway. You’ve been kind. I know people aren’t always, with this kind of thing. So thank you.”

The admission, elided as it was, was like a fisherman’s hook catching in M’Baku’s heart and tugging, as if his heart was being reeled in with such patient gentleness that he almost didn’t feel the pain. Looking at Bucky now, at the quiet bravery of his openness, M’Baku thought that hook and line would stay lodged in his heart for some time. Ah, well. If he was going to be reeled in, he wouldn’t thrash about, lodging the hook in deeper and more cruelly. He would wait, and hope to be caught in a gentle hand, then released.

“You are very welcome,” said M’Baku, because the moment was too heavy to make light of, even if M’Baku wanted to win another laugh out of Bucky. The sweetly shy kiss on the cheek that Bucky gave him was a fair alternative though.

“I gotta go,” said Bucky with a smile.

“I should go too,” he said, thinking of the trip back up the mountain, and began pulling his own clothes on. Having two hands, he managed it quicker than Bucky, so he asked, “May I?” and, once Bucky nodded, helped him with his clothes.

He settled the shawl carefully over the metal socket of Bucky’s left shoulder as Bucky attempted to finger comb his hair into some semblance of order. Someone must have put his hair up for him yesterday, M’Baku realized. He couldn’t do so with just one hand. So he fetched the bright blue woven hair tie from where they’d discarded it the night before, and pulled Bucky’s hair back for him. He received a smiling kiss in thanks.

They left the guesthouse together, and parted on the street, both of them heading in different directions. M’Baku doubted this would be the last he’d see of White Wolf. If it was though, at least it would be a bright memory. And if it wasn’t—well, if the wolf had caught him with a lucky line, M’Baku could tug back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, yes, this is two nights late, don't @ me, I am as ever utterly incapable of judging how long a fic will be. anyway, here is the actual huddling for warmth, now I can justly claim bingo!

Wakanda’s unveiling had few immediate consequences for the Jabari, hidden away as they were up in the mountains. After his last trip down into the Golden City though, M’Baku had brought kimoyo bead bracelets for some of the Jabari to try, which meant that even without any real changes to the rhythms and necessities of Jabari life, the Jabari were all too aware of every single detail of Wakanda’s unveiling and the world’s response to it, and they pored over every such detail with avid interest. It also meant everyone had _opinions_ and M’Baku was the one who had to listen to them if he wanted to be a good leader of his tribe. He had to listen to them at _every single Jabari council_ _meeting_ for a full two weeks.

Which was why he was not feeling particularly charitable towards either the damnable kimoyo bracelet on his wrist or the king when he received a call from T’Challa during a brief respite from such meetings. He had retreated to his study to escape people, and yet, here was yet another intrusion.

“Lord M’Baku, I hope you and your people are well.”

M’Baku glared at the hologram of T’Challa that was projected up over the communication bead, and hoped said disapproving glare lost none of its effectiveness via hologram.

“What do you want, my king?”

The faintly petulant and wounded look in T’Challa’s eyes honestly did not befit a king, so M’Baku didn’t relent and kept up his forbidding scowl.

“I could just want to speak to my friend and fellow leader, to check in about how you and the Jabari are doing after the recent unveiling.”

“You _could_ want to do that, but that is not why you have called. Get to the point.”

“Very well,” said T’Challa with a sigh. “The UN is sending a delegation to Wakanda.”

“We will not have a gaggle of outsiders trampling through our mountains and forests and valleys, my king,” M’Baku snapped. “Jabariland wants no part of such a delegation.”

It was all well and good to vote for Wakanda’s unveiling; that did not mean M’Baku or the Jabari wanted the whole rest of the world to intrude on their home.

T’Challa smiled, broad in a way that reminded M’Baku of a panther baring its teeth.

“I’m pleased to hear you say that, Lord M’Baku.”

“And why is that,” said M’Baku slowly.

“Because Sergeant Barnes needs somewhere to go while the delegation is here. Somewhere that is not a cryostasis unit.”

“What?”

“Sergeant Barnes, the outsider who has sanctuary with the Panther Tribe—”

“I know who he is!” M’Baku knew who Bucky was far more intimately than T’Challa could ever suspect, in fact. The thought made his lips twitch with a wholly inappropriate smile. “Explain why he needs somewhere else to go.”

“The situation with his fugitive status remains delicate. He has been cleared of Zemo’s crimes, but between the Accords and the Winter Soldier situation, it is not yet safe for him to go beyond these borders, and should the UN find out that Wakanda is harboring him…well, I fear the news would get out and attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“If Wakanda’s safety is in question, then perhaps it is time to send the man elsewhere.”

M’Baku may have been passing fond of Bucky, but Wakanda came first, and he doubted Bucky would begrudge either him or T’Challa that calculation.

“It is not _our_ safety in question, rather it is his. HYDRA remains a threat, as do any number of other wrongdoers who would see Sergeant Barnes as a weapon free for the taking. And while I have assured Sergeant Barnes that no one who wishes him harm can reach him inside these borders, he is set on ensuring there will be no risk to our safety.”

“Not his own safety?” asked M’Baku, his eyebrows rising of their own volition.

T’Challa pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “His own safety, regrettably, is rarely Bucky’s first priority. It is, however, among mine, given that he is currently under my charge and care.”

As inconvenient as it could be, M’Baku couldn’t fault T’Challa’s sense of duty.

“And you want him to come here.”

“Yes. We would both get something we want: if you grant Bucky sanctuary in Jabariland, then no UN delegation will enter your lands.”

“And if we don’t, they will _invade_ our lands?”

T’Challa raised his eyebrows. “A couple dozen diplomats and their press corps hardly constitutes an invasion. And if all the other tribes must endure these visits, then the Jabari will as well. Unless there is a compelling national security reason not to do so.”

“What will you do with Barnes if the Jabari say no?” asked M’Baku, stalling for time as he considered what to do.

M’Baku the man had no qualms about offering Bucky sanctuary, and needed no consideration for doing so, not from Bucky, nor from T’Challa. It was simply the honorable and kind thing to do. For M’Baku, Lord of the Jabari, matters were more complicated.

“ _I_ will do nothing with him. Bucky has chosen to re-enter cryostasis for the duration of the UN delegation’s visit, which is not a solution I find acceptable. I trust you can understand why, given thefiles you reviewed.”

M’Baku did understand why, though he wasn’t about to show T’Challa how much the thought of Bucky voluntarily choosing something so close to death disturbed him. It was only sentiment, perhaps, to remember the vivid burning heat of his pale skin, how alive that skin had been to M’Baku’s touch, only sentiment to think of Bucky’s sincere and quiet thanks for M’Baku’s kindness and want to offer him kindness again. He couldn’t let sentiment cloud his judgment. If he was to allow Bucky into Jabariland, he had to consider the risks and benefits to his people.

“I do understand, yes,” said M’Baku.

“So will you offer him sanctuary?”

M’Baku tapped his finger against the smooth and burnished wood of his study’s desk, and considered. T’Challa was laying a neat little trap for M’Baku here, one he would have been considerably more angered by had he not, in fact, been willing to offer Bucky sanctuary. As it was, this was a decent bargain for the Jabari, one that would avoid any acrimonious debates in the Council of the Tribes or among the Jabari council, and one that could align with M’Baku’s own longterm plans. Not that T’Challa had to know M’Baku thought it so.

M’Baku made a show of anger and recalcitrance, and let T’Challa plead his case some more—which he did quite movingly and convincingly, M’Baku was kind of impressed—before giving in with feigned reluctance.

“Very well,” he said. “Your fugitive may have sanctuary. However, he will be here as the Lord of the Jabari’s personal guest, he is no charge of the Jabari Tribe. He must remain the responsibility of the Panther Tribe.”

T’Challa nodded, grave and graceful. “Of course. Thank you, Lord M’Baku. I will send you a message regarding the arrangements for his arrival once they are finalized.”

* * *

“So are we going to be hosting a UN delegation?” asked Ifedayo. “Because if so, we need to adjust the decor, stick a lot of animal skulls everywhere, adjust the lighting for peak ominous effect…”

M’Baku had gathered his court to give them the news of their future guest, and Ifedayo’s reaction reminded him why he was grateful that he could put this particular news before his court rather than to the council of elders for their approval. Since Bucky would be his personal guest, he required no approval vote or haranguing lectures; he only had his court’s reaction to deal with, and they, M’Baku knew, would be reasonable about this. Also, funny. Ifedayo’s excellent suggestion was almost enough to make him regret not hosting the UN delegation.

“This is why you are my favorite,” M’Baku told Ifedayo sincerely over the groans of the others. “But no, the delegation will not be visiting Jabariland. We will, however, be hosting a different outsider as a guest.”

“Not that CIA agent again, I hope,” said Oson. “I don’t trust him, the way he tries to seem as meek as a mouse when he has a snake’s eyes.”

Emphatic agreement echoed around M’Baku’s chambers.

“Not him, no. The king has asked us to host the Panther Tribe’s charge, Sergeant Bucky Barnes.”

“The fugitive assassin?” asked Mobori, incredulous.

“Fugitive _former_ assassin,” M’Baku corrected. “That is the price of avoiding being host to an entire UN delegation of gawking foreigners with cameras. I count it a bargain: we are hosting one reasonably polite white man instead of dozens who would be poking around all over the place asking questions and being annoying.”

M’Baku was all for his tribe reentering the world, but that did not mean he wanted the world at large to enter it. He was already asking his people to accept a great many changes by reuniting with the other tribes of Wakanda and revealing Wakanda’s true self to the world; any other changes would have to be introduced in small and slow steps. This, he hoped, could be one such small step, one with reasonably low stakes.

“And he is safe?” asked Oson. “Will we need to keep a guard detail on him?”

“No guard detail, he wasn’t an assassin of his own free will. The king assures me that he is no more dangerous to us than any other skilled warrior.”

“And what does Lord M’Baku assure us of?”

M’Baku grinned. “That he is a fine bed partner who has the good taste to laugh at my jokes.”

Most of his court groaned.

“Don’t tell us you intend to marry him!” exclaimed Ifedayo, with enough delight in her tone to give away that she would find it tremendously exciting if he did.

“You could do so much better,” moaned Mobori. “You could court the king himself!”

“Or the queen mother, once an appropriate mourning period has been observed!” said Tiwa.

“You are all too eager to marry me off,” said M’Baku with a scowl. “I have no intention of marrying Sergeant Barnes, the king is spoken for, and the _queen mother_ , really?”

“She is a beautiful woman!” protested Tiwa. “And a fine warrior in her own right, you know she used to be one of the Dora Milaje.”

“If this meeting is going to descend into gossip and matchmaking—” M’Baku began to warn, before he was interrupted by Ifedayo gasping.

“This is because you used Hathor’s List, isn’t it!” she said.

“It is. And it wasn’t a bad match,” admitted M’Baku, like tossing a stone into a lake, and watched the knowledge ripple out among his court. The ripples would spread, and the Jabari would know of one option for seeking a companion or partner outside Jabariland. Few would do so, but that was fine. M’Baku was sowing seeds that would take decades to bear fruit. “Now, when Sergeant Barnes arrives, make it known: he will be my guest and treated as such. Also, someone make sure to take a photo of his face when he arrives. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know who it is he’ll be meeting when he arrives here, and I would like to cherish the moment.”

* * *

The arrangements T’Challa had spoken of were apparently to have Princess Shuri herself escort Bucky to Jabariland, and in a surprising display of proper manners, she contacted M’Baku via kimoyo bracelet before she traipsed up his mountain as she pleased.

“Lord M’Baku, I’d like to request your leave to enter Jabariland to escort Sergeant Barnes.”

“Do you intend to use one of your jets?”

“Yes,” said Shuri slowly, and M’Baku grunted in disapproval.

“No jets, Princess. I’ll not have you setting off any avalanches or rock slides by attempting to land such a thing, not that there are any convenient landing spaces anyway. The snowpack is too precarious at this time of year. Take the mountain path, I will send my warriors to make sure the way is clear for you.”

Shuri’s eyes narrowed as if she wanted to argue, but she nodded graciously instead. “We will take the mountain path then, thank you. I had one other matter I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Very well.”

Her posture grew even more upright, the tilt of her chin a touch too determined to be able to pass as respectful, but she was certainly trying.

“I would ask you to have some care with Sergeant Barnes.”

“You think we would mistreat a guest?” he asked with deceptive mildness.

He didn’t think the Jabari had ever given Shuri cause to doubt their hospitality, for when she and her mother and Nakia had come seeking sanctuary for themselves on his mountain, he had given it to them freely, had treated them as the honored guests they were.

“No,” said Shuri, eyes widening. “I don’t mean to insult Jabari hospitality. It is only that Bucky is still recovering from terrible traumas, and should you have any quarrels or—or resentments about this situation, I ask that you not take them out on him. He has suffered a great deal, and I have promised him that he will suffer no further under our care.”

There was no mischief in Shuri’s eyes for once. It seemed she took her promises seriously, and this one especially so. Though she made Bucky seem fragile, and the man M’Baku had met had been the furthest thing from fragile. Still, M’Baku had only known him for the space of an afternoon and one long, pleasure-filled night, when he had been brave and bold, and that boldness had perhaps demanded more of Bucky than he had let on. Maybe he was not always so bold, so open.

“Your care for your charge is admirable,” M’Baku told her. “He will come to no harm here, I swear by Hanuman. Is there anything specific he requires for his healing or accommodation?”

Shuri shook her head. “I will send everything he might need with him. Thank you for your hospitality, Lord M’Baku,” she said, her relief evident in the way her narrow shoulders lost some of their tension.

“You are very welcome,” he told her, then grinned. “See, are traditional manners so difficult?”

She scowled at him before remembering herself, and schooled her expression back into dignity. “We should arrive tomorrow afternoon. Goodbye, Lord M’Baku.”

* * *

When Shuri and Bucky arrived the next day, M’Baku received them in the throne room, in the full clothing of his office, surrounded by his court and guards. It was only proper to receive the Princess of Wakanda so, and if it would also provide Bucky with a hopefully hilarious surprise, all the better.

Bucky did not disappoint.

At any other time, M’Baku would have been delighting in Princess Shuri’s stubborn adherence to polite protocol as she made a proper introduction. Today though, all his delight was reserved for the way Bucky’s snowy sky-colored eyes went wide and his pale skin flushed red.

“Great Gorilla, Lord of the Jabari, I present Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—”

M’Baku interrupted Shuri’s proper introduction. “Hi, Bucky.”

Shuri’s eyes immediately narrowed, but before she could say anything, Bucky briefly closed his eyes in mingled mortification and hilarity before saying, “Hi, M’Baku. Or, uh, your…lordship?”

M’Baku grinned wide, settled himself more comfortably on his Jabari wood throne. “M’Baku’s fine. We _are_ well-acquainted already, after all.”

He let his grin turn into a leer, and watched Bucky’s flush turn even deeper red. Adorable. Was he truly this bashful outside of the bedroom?

“What. _How_?” demanded Shuri.

Before M’Baku could answer her, Bucky’s expression shifted rapidly to a kind of wild mischief and right on to studied innocence. And there it was, there was that challenging, cocky tilt to his head that had egged both of them on to a pleasurably exhausting night.

“Oh, you know that thing you put on my kimoyo beads? Hathor’s List?” said Bucky.

“No,” breathed Shuri, her eyes wide.

“And I believe you were the one who provided it to me as well?” said M’Baku mildly.

Shuri only managed a strangled sort of squeaking noise as she looked between M’Baku and Bucky.

“Yeah, so…I used it,” said Bucky. “And so did M’Baku.”

“Sweet Bast, you have got to be kidding me,” said Shuri.

Bucky blinked, eyes wide and guileless. Truly, he was very good at this, M’Baku noted.

“Was I not supposed to have used it?” Bucky asked.

“Well,” said Shuri faintly. “I certainly wasn’t expecting the two of you to end up matched together.”

Which at least eased M’Baku’s mind about whether his and Bucky’s match had been part of Shuri’s mischief.

“I must thank you, Princess. It was an _excellent_ match,” he said, and because he couldn’t help himself, he echoed Shuri’s own cheeky addition to his profile, “If you know what I mean and I think you do.”

Shuri covered her face with her hands and groaned. “Fine, yes, I deserved that.” She lowered her hands. “But you made such a big deal out of letting Bucky—” Shuri paused, glared at him. “Oh, you _trickster_ , acting as if it was some imposition to host Bucky when you’ve—you’ve—!”

Bucky grinned, sly and wolfish. “I haven’t gotten all the way through your 21st century catch up syllabus yet, Shuri, but I think this counts as a booty call? Is that the right term?”

“You are the worst and I am leaving you on this mountain forever,” snapped Shuri, and only then did M’Baku and Bucky dissolve into laughter. “You two deserve each other, clearly!”

* * *

Once Shuri returned to the Golden City in a flustered rush, M’Baku dismissed his court and guard, and walked with Bucky through the halls of the palace, telling him a little about the Jabari and Hanuman’s City, and pointing out this or that along their journey. Bucky listened attentively, looking at everything with gratifying wonder. There was something to be said for seeing his home through a newcomer’s eyes, for seeing its familiar beauty and grandeur anew. The Jabari had hewn all of this out of the mountain’s unforgiving stone, had grown it and shaped it from the wood of their sacred trees. It _was_ a wonder, and it was a joy to see it received so.

As they wound their way to the main hall, which hosted most of Hanuman’s City’s communal events and was its general indoor gathering space, Bucky managed to tear his eyes away from the admittedly impressive mountain vistas to look up at M’Baku, eyes crinkling.

“You know, you could have just messaged me if you wanted a second date,” Bucky said with a smile.

“Offering you sanctuary is not contingent upon a second date,” M’Baku told him. “You needn’t feel any obligation to me. Hosting you is quite the bargain for the Jabari: we avoid an unwelcome delegation of gawking foreigners for the low price of harboring a single fugitive foreigner, and we gain some favor with the king as well.”

Belatedly, it occurred to M’Baku that Bucky might take offense at being used as something of a pawn, but Bucky’s smile didn’t fade, it just turned wry.

“Thank you for taking me in anyway. Gotta say, I was starting to get a little worried about just who this intimidating Lord of the Jabari was, the way Shuri and some of the others were talking.”

“Oh? Do they think I’m intimidating?” M’Baku asked, with no small amount of delight.

Bucky’s smile grew into a grin, and he shook his head. “I’m not gonna be passing tales. Let’s just say I heard a lot of talk about the way you challenged T’Challa. Still—I’m glad it’s you.”

“Even if I were as fearsome as the stories say, surely I’d still be a better bet than freezing yourself.”

“T’Challa told you that?” asked Bucky with a wince, and M’Baku just raised his eyebrows in answer. “It seemed like the safest option. And I don’t want to be a burden. If there’s anything I can do while I’m here—”

M’Baku clapped Bucky on the shoulder, pleased when the gesture didn’t make him stagger, his posture remaining as straight and upright as an oak tree.

“You are my guest, don’t insult me by implying I demand anything of my guests but their company and good will. But don’t worry, you’ll more than make up for any marginal inconvenience you cause by satisfying the curiosity of my tribe. The children especially will have many questions for you, I’m sure. You’ll be the first foreigner they’ve ever seen!”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, I’m used to that. Not sure I’ll have a lot of good answers for them though. The world out there’s about as new to me as it is to them.”

“All the better,” said M’Baku. “You will learn together!”

“Guess so,” said Bucky with a little laugh. “And hey, can’t go worse than it did when the kids in my village were trying to teach me how to milk the goats.”

* * *

M’Baku’s favor went a long way towards making the rest of his tribe tolerant of their foreign guest; nonetheless, as they entered the main hall, most were polite but wary. Which was, M’Baku reflected, a significant improvement on the active hostility they’d shown the CIA agent, so all in all, M’Baku already considered this a successful experiment.

For the children, curiosity overrode any wariness or fear, and they kept Bucky busy until dinner. Groups of them came and went from the main hall, where, with varying degrees of politeness, they introduced themselves to M’Baku’s guest before asking him a seemingly never-ending torrent of questions: why was his skin white, why did his hair look like that, could they touch his hair, where did he come from, was he friends with the king...M’Baku was exhausted just listening. Truly, if there was any question of Bucky needing to earn his keep here, answering the children’s questions would have more than sufficed. 

“Ey! Be polite!” M’Baku told them, after one of the little ones asked an insensitively direct question about Bucky’s missing left arm.

“It’s alright,” said Bucky, with a shockingly sweet and patient smile. “I lost it when I fell during a battle.”

“Does it still hurt? Is Princess Shuri making you a new one?”

“Sometimes, yes. And she is, but I’m not sure I want a new one yet.”

Before another child could ask yet another far too impertinent question, M’Baku stepped in. “That’s enough of asking your elders personal questions about what they choose to do with their bodies. I don’t see any of you pestering Mbele about his cane!”

“Yes, Lord M’Baku,” chorused the children.

“You can just tell them they’re being rude, you know,” he told Bucky, and Bucky grinned. “Alright, children, I am entrusting you with my guest for the afternoon. Do not shame your tribe!”

“Yes, Lord M’Baku!”

M’Baku left them then, as his duties called him elsewhere, but he checked in on them in the main hall whenever he had a spare moment. Every time he did, he saw that Bucky’s patience had not yet flagged, his head bent to listen to one small child or another, his attention unwavering, and M’Baku smiled to see it.

“For an assassin, he is very good with children,” noted Tiwa.

“Former assassin,” M’Baku corrected. It seemed an important distinction when a toddler was climbing into Bucky’s lap. “And yes, he is.”

The toddler yanked at Bucky’s hair, and Bucky winced, loosening her grip gently.

“Should we help him?” asked Tiwa, and Bucky glanced over at them, wry and long-suffering, but not unhappy.

“Nah, he’ll be fine.”

* * *

When Bucky joined M’Baku for dinner, he had the faintly dazed look of a man run ragged by Jabari children. M’Baku gave him a bracing clap on the shoulder.

“You did well! The children and their teachers love you. You’re being a very good ambassador for all foreigners right now, much better than a UN delegation. I have the best ideas.”

Would one patient and kind white man make the Jabari want to throw off their isolation and welcome all comers? No, and M’Baku didn’t want them to. But he _did_ want his people to grow used to those outsiders who might be deemed worthy enough to be guests of the Jabari. He wanted the children to learn both caution and compassion, and he wanted his tribe to know they could afford to welcome outsiders now and again. Trees that couldn’t bend and sway with the wind broke and toppled. Better for the Jabari to bend a very little now, than to break later on.

“Oh, that’s good,” said Bucky faintly. “Wait, what?”

M’Baku poured him a generous helping of beer. “Drink up, you’ve earned it.”

“I can’t get drunk,” he said, but lifted the mug, tipped his head back and took a deep swallow anyway. The way it exposed the elegant, pale line of his neck was somewhat...distracting. “And what’s this about me being an ambassador? Because I feel like the amnesiac former assassin who’s pushing a hundred years old is _not_ who you should—”

“Wait, how old did you say you are?” demanded Ifedayo from across the table, and a whole new round of curious questions began, this time from adults. M’Baku grinned into his own mug of beer, and sat back to listen to Bucky’s answers.

* * *

“It’s been literal decades since I’ve talked so much,” said Bucky as they left the dining hall after a long and pleasantly loud dinner, and indeed, his voice had turned rough, more quiet even than it usually was.

“Can’t have you losing your voice now, how will you keep the children busy tomorrow?” With one arm around Bucky’s shoulders, M’Baku began to detour them towards the kitchen. “You are good with them, by the way.”

“I had three little sisters,” said Bucky softly. “And a lot of cousins. I was the oldest, so—” he shrugged.

When M’Baku looked down at him, grief had carved deep lines on his face. They’d reached the kitchen by now, and M’Baku begged a hot tisane with honey from Wura before she closed up the kitchens for the night. Bucky took it with a grateful smile, and they sat together at one of the counters as Bucky sipped at the tea.

“Tell me about your family,” M’Baku said. “Your tribe.”

“They’re long gone,” said Bucky, and when he lifted his face from the mug of tea, there was a terrible lack of expression on his face, all the grief wiped away. It lingered though, in his eyes, a deep well of sorrow. “I was born nearly a hundred years ago, M’Baku. There’s no one left. Well, no one but Steve.”

 _He has suffered a great deal_ , Shuri had said, and now M’Baku saw the truth of it.

“And where is this Steve? If it is just you two left, surely you should stay together. A family of two is yet a family.”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s on the run, busy saving the world. I—he doesn’t know I’m out of cryo yet.”

“And you cannot call him with one of these kimoyo beads?” M’Baku said, lifting the kimoyo bead necklace from Bucky’s neck with one finger before letting it fall.

Bucky gave him a sharp look and set his now empty mug down. “It’s complicated.”

M’Baku shrugged. It was none of his concern, he supposed. “Come, I will show you to your quarters.”

“So…not a booty call then?” said Bucky, a lopsided smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

M’Baku snorted. “You are welcome in my bed, of course, but it is not a requirement of your stay here.”

Bucky nodded, silent for a moment, thinking it over, maybe. It was like the moment he’d paused at the threshold of M’Baku’s door: a marshaling of strength, of some quiet courage.

Eventually he said, “I’m not up for anything like the last time, but…I wouldn’t mind some company?”

“Neither would I,” M’Baku said, and led Bucky to his private chambers.

* * *

“Your bed is enormous,” declared Bucky, an entirely appropriate tinge of awe in his voice.

“I am not a small man, you might have noticed,” said M’Baku dryly, and Bucky grinned at him, rolled his eyes.

“Sure, but it’s still about as big as my first apartment.”

They readied themselves for sleep, the relaxed ease of the familiar routines a stark but not unwelcome contrast to the last time they’d shared a bed. When they got under the covers, Bucky slid close, the nearly feverish heat of his body warming the bed quickly.

M’Baku wouldn’t have minded simply sharing the bed; there was a comfort in such simple companionship, and he had no need to make it sexual, and indeed, most often didn’t. But when Bucky brought a hand to M’Baku’s cheek and turned his face for a kiss, M’Baku went willingly, happy to exchange a few slow and lazy kisses, the heat between them at a steady simmer, until sleep turned their eyelids heavy and they subsided and slept, sharing the warmth of their bodies.

At least, M’Baku assumed Bucky slept. M’Baku dreamed, and they were not good dreams.

It wasn’t uncommon for him, since the battle with the usurper. Sometimes he dreamed that he was in battle without a weapon, without armor. Sometimes he dreamed that the Border Tribe’s rhinos stampeded him, crushing him under their hooves. Tonight, the chaos of battle was worse than it had been in actuality, a cacophony that battered and overwhelmed him as surely as his enemies did when they overtook him, as his people fell one by one around him.

He woke with a gasp to the sight of Bucky sitting up, his eyes almost silvery in the darkness of M’Baku’s chamber, his hand on M’Baku’s chest.

“Shh, it’s alright, you’re alright,” he said, and left his hand on M’Baku’s chest until his heart slowed down, the last of the dream fading. “Nightmare?”

M’Baku sighed, covered Bucky’s hand with his own. “Just a dream.”

“Of what?” asked Bucky. His voice had not yet wholly recovered from the day’s exertions, little more than a hoarse rumble, or perhaps this was just how he sounded when he’d just woken from sleep.

“Battle,” said M’Baku. “The usurper’s little war.”

Bucky’s hand was hot against his bare chest, a welcome anchor, but his ice-pale eyes were too focused for such a late hour.

“That makes it a nightmare. No one just dreams of the war. It’s always a nightmare, if it’s about a war.”

The shadows on Bucky’s face were deeper than even the darkness could account for, and M’Baku shivered.

“It was just a dream,” M’Baku insisted, for whatever nightmares of war troubled Bucky, surely they were nothing like M’Baku’s own dreams. Dreams of the battle unsettled him, that was all. That didn’t make them nightmares.

He moved Bucky’s hand from his chest, and used it to draw Bucky down to lay on the bed again. Bucky came easily, though there was a furrow in his brow.

“Alright,” he said, and M’Baku closed his eyes, determined to return to sleep.

* * *

The morning brought the return of M’Baku’s duties, along with a snowstorm, the snow falling on Hanuman’s City in light flurries. After a quick breakfast, M’Baku left Bucky in the main hall with Ifedayo, trusting that she’d either find something or another for Bucky to do, or at the very least, that they’d entertain each other. More likely, they’d end up entertaining and possibly educating the children.

He was on his rounds of the greenhouse—there were a few new breeds of tomatoes and peppers the botanists were trying to grow and M’Baku wanted to check on their progress—when Oson came running in, an urgent expression on his face.

“M’Baku, it’s Mayowa’s fishing party. There has been an avalanche on the eastern slopes, and we fear they’ve been caught in it, they were due back hours ago—”

M’Baku didn’t need to hear any more.

“Gather supplies for a search party, enough for a dozen people, fast as you can. We will meet in the main hall,” he ordered, and left the greenhouse at a jog, already compiling a mental list of the best trackers among his warriors.

Avalanches were an unavoidable part of life in the mountains, and the Jabari mitigated some of their danger by using tunnels carved into the mountain. The trails that led down into the river valleys, however, were mostly in the open air, and vulnerable to the shifting snow and rocks on the mountain slopes above them. Mayowa and his fishing party had likely thought the current storm’s light snowfall wouldn’t have been enough to shift the snowpack, or that they could beat the storm back to Hanuman’s City. Clearly, they’d been wrong. There were always a few Jabari who made that mistake every season, and some who were simply unlucky, sometimes fatally so. Hopefully Mayowa and the others could be found and rescued still, if M’Baku and his warriors moved quickly enough.

* * *

Within twenty minutes, M’Baku had eleven warriors gathered in the main hall, already dressed in their furs and leathers, supplies and snow shoes strapped to their backs. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to the other Jabari in the main hall, but Bucky looked up from where he had, apparently, joined the children’s lessons for the day, and concern was writ large on his face as he took in the tableau. He rose from the children’s circle and jogged over to join M’Baku.

“What’s going on?” asked Bucky, and M’Baku told him quickly. “Let me go with you,” he said, and before M’Baku could refuse him, he added, “I’m a good tracker, especially in the snow. I can help.”

“The Winter Soldier is not just a code name, eh?” asked M’Baku sharply, and Bucky’s answering smile had no joy in it.

“Not really, no. Let me come with you,” he said again. “I want to help.”

“You are a guest,” protested M’Baku, shaking his head.

“A guest who has enhanced hearing and sight, which’ll come in handy for finding anyone under the snow. I can help,” Bucky insisted.

Bucky met M’Baku’s eyes, no pleading there, only steady certainty. There was no point in wasting any more time arguing, M’Baku decided. His people’s lives were all that mattered.

“Fine. Dress warm, we search in pairs, and one group of three. Everyone, take one of the kimoyo bracelets with you, stay in contact, and send a message if you find Mayowa and the others. Bucky, you stay with me.”

* * *

The eastern slopes weren’t far; Mayowa’s fishing party had nearly reached Hanuman’s City when they must have been caught in the avalanche, likely set off by the morning’s snow. Even this storm’s light snowfall could have added just enough weight to set part of the snowpack higher up the mountain in motion. The avalanche’s path was hard to see so near to the peaks, but the watchmen tasked with monitoring such things could see well enough to provide M’Baku and his search party with a general idea of where to begin searching. M’Baku directed the search party to split up in different directions to cover the most likely locations where Mayowa, Meluzmi, Ntando, and Dumisa could have been caught in the avalanche, or where they might have taken shelter. 

While a couple pairs of the search party would search below, in case the avalanche had swept Mayowa and the others off the trail entirely, the rest would search along the main path and around it. M’Baku would take Bucky with him to try the older trails, for he knew Mayowa and Ntando tended to prefer them. From the bridge that led from Hanuman’s City into the surrounding mountains, he and Bucky could get a better vantage on the eastern slopes, so they started there, though the visibility was poor thanks to the still falling snow.

“Is there only one path up?” asked Bucky, squinting against the drifting snow. “How big’s our search area?”

“There’s one main path they would have been traveling, but there are many older paths along that slope, and a warren of caves that the Jabari lived in thousands of years ago. Mayowa and the others may have diverted to one of the old trails if they weren’t caught in the avalanche, but look—” He pointed to the wash of white covering the zigzagging grey of the switchback paths and trails. “Some of those trails have been covered too. If they sheltered in one of the old caves, they may be trapped, and if they were caught unawares on the main path, they may be buried.”

“Or they may have missed the avalanche entirely and are just trying to find a way around the snowed out paths,” said Bucky, though he didn’t sound especially convinced.

“That is my hope,” said M’Baku. “We’ll start on one of the old trails.”

They crossed the wooden suspension bridge as fast as the snowy conditions allowed. All Jabari knew to take care on the narrow bridges that connected the buildings and settlements perched on the mountains’ cliffs and crags; Jabari wood was as strong as could be, but the bridges were narrow and the winds could gust through suddenly. It was wise to keep a firm grip on the bridge’s rope railings, or even clip a line to them. Such measures weren’t quite necessary today, but M’Baku made Bucky go ahead of him just in case. M’Baku could catch him if he began to falter.

They made it across the bridge in good time without incident, and given that Bucky’s pace had been neither too reckless nor too hesitant, M’Baku assumed he had no issue with crossing the bridge. When M’Baku caught sight of Bucky’s face, he realized his assumption had been too hasty: Bucky’s already pale skin had gone nearly as white as the snow surrounding them, though he was still steady on his feet. M’Baku stopped Bucky with a hand on his anyway, peering closely at him.

“Are you well?” M’Baku asked him. “Do not tell me you’re afraid of heights.”

He understood that such a thing was theoretically possible. It was just fundamentally incompatible with the Jabari lifestyle. And if Bucky did have some crippling fear of heights, now was a bad time to disclose it.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine!” said Bucky, his voice a touch higher and faster than usual. “Just, uh—had a bad experience with snowy mountain ravines. Let’s keep going.”

M’Baku walked on and Bucky joined him, but he cast a skeptical side eye towards Bucky. “What kind of bad experience?”

“Oh, you know, fell into one, died, kind of. It’s how I lost my arm.” M’Baku stopped in his tracks to gape at Bucky. “I didn’t _die_ die, obviously. It was just my presumed death.” M’Baku kept staring. “As far as traumatic events go, I’ve had worse, so it’s fine. And, clearly, it takes more than falling into a ravine to kill me, so—”

“There is a point where bravery becomes madness, you know,” M’Baku informed him.

Bucky laughed, wild and hectic, his cheeks blooming with color again. “Yeah, you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

* * *

They continued onward towards the old trails, the clouds above them growing darker. M’Baku glanced up at them, frowning. He doubted they were in for a blizzard, but heavier snowfall wouldn’t help their search any. At best, it would obscure the tracks they might need to find the missing; at worst, there would be more avalanches as the snowpack continued to shift.

“Step lightly,” M’Baku warned Bucky, and Bucky nodded, snowflakes gathering in his hair and eyelashes, his pale eyes shockingly blue when set against the white of the snow. White Wolf was becoming an ever more apt nickname.

They searched together in mostly silence, the better to hear any cries from the lost fishing party, and kept sharp watch for any sign of disturbed snow. Bucky touched M’Baku’s arm every so often, a silent request to stop, and he would tip his head in a listening sort of posture, before shaking his head and continuing.

They searched for two hours before M’Baku called for a break. “Here, there is a small cave nearby. We can rest for a moment, see if there is any sign of Mayowa and the others there.”

Bucky nodded and followed M’Baku, but before they’d taken half a dozen steps, his low voice called out, “Stop, wait.” When M’Baku turned to look at him, he was frozen in place, eyes narrowed and seemingly listening hard. “Another avalanche, above us, coming fast,” he said and pushed M’Baku forwards. “We gotta get to that cave.”

Just as M’Baku was about to protest that he could hear nothing, could feel no telltale shaking on the ground, he heard it himself: the distant rumble and roar of a wall of loose snow, and when he looked up at the slopes above them, squinting past the snow still falling from the sky, he saw it, a wave of oncoming white. As one, he and Bucky turned and ran. They could outpace it, M’Baku thought. They had to. The rumble of the rushing avalanche grew louder and louder, and just as they dove for the cave’s narrow entrance, it nearly overtook them, snow rushing in after them and pushing them into the interior of the cave, half burying them.

M’Baku muttered a quick prayer of thanks to Hanuman: it was fresh snow, at least, still light and powdery, not yet hard and icy. M’Baku fought free of it easily enough, and when he turned to check on Bucky, M’Baku saw that he too had stumbled clear of the waist-high drift of snow, already shaking off the snow that clung to him. The rumbling of the avalanche had not yet ceased; M’Baku pulled Bucky away from the cave entrance, and they both watched as the opening was wholly blocked by snow, plunging them into near darkness.

* * *

The kimoyo beads proved their worth: they gave off enough light to help them see in the dark of the cave, and even with fingertips half-numb from the cold, M’Baku was able to contact his guard captain, Lindiwe, and apprise her of the situation.

“Ah, Hanuman jests with us,” she said. “Tiwa has just found Mayowa and the others, but now you are trapped by another avalanche!”

“Are they well?”

“They’re cold, obviously, and Meluzmi and Dumisa are injured, broken bones only. And Ntando took a bit of a knock to the head, but he will be well. Getting them back to Hanuman’s City will be a delicate task with their injuries though, and the snow is falling heavier now.”

“No need to risk sending anyone else out in this just to dig us out,” M’Baku decided. “We can manage in here for a night or two if we must.”

Bucky approached the cave’s snowed-in entrance. “We could dig ourselves out, probably. Can’t be more than, what, ten, fifteen feet of snow from the entrance to the edge of the trail?”

“It would be night by the time we managed it, and there is no moon. It’s a treacherous enough trail in full daylight when who knows how much of it is snowed out. In the full dark, when it’s still snowing?” M’Baku shook his head. “No, too dangerous.”

“The winds are kicking up too,” said Lindiwe. “If neither of you are injured and if you are in one of the caves that has supplies, better to wait. We can see how matters fare in the morning.”

“No injuries, and we have supplies,” confirmed M’Baku. “Focus on getting the others back safely. We can wait.”

* * *

M’Baku and Bucky were uninjured, but they were both chilled and damp from the snow, and M’Baku was beginning to feel it, a shiver rattling his bones. His leathers and furs, usually good insulation from both cold and damp, were heavy and wet from the avalanche’s snow, icy trickles of snowmelt making their way down the back of his neck, and Bucky was in much the same shape.

Luckily for them, this was one of the caves the Jabari kept supplied in case of emergency. Many of the caves in the mountains were equipped with caches of supplies: both for situations such as the one M’Baku and Bucky now found themselves in, and in case the Jabari had to flee their cities. This particular cave was a natural one, but many of the others in the mountains had been hewn by the ancient Jabari and had served as their first homes, and could serve as such again, should the need arise. Those were more fully equipped, capable of sustaining many people for a minimum of two weeks.

This small cave would not be so amply stocked. It would do for their purposes though, M’Baku hoped, so long as no animals had gotten into the stores…a ha. There it was. Tucked away towards the rear of the cave were two big chests of Jabari wood: one held a week’s worth of provisions and medical supplies, another held blankets, bioluminescent torches, heating packs and sundry other supplies. A few bedrolls were rolled up beside the chests, wrapped tightly in waterproof material, and these M’Baku opened as quickly as he could with shaking hands, unrolling them onto the cold stone floor of the cave.

“Get your wet things off before you freeze to death,” M’Baku told Bucky, eyeing his pallor with concern as he removed his own wet clothing, which had begun to stiffen in the freezing air.

M’Baku judged that he himself was not yet in any danger of serious hypothermia—his mind was still clear and sharp for all that he was shivering hard from the cold, and his extremities were only clumsy rather than numb—but Bucky was slimmer and smaller than he was, with too much lean muscle and too little warming fat. The cold was more of a danger to him than it was to M’Baku.

Bucky did as M’Baku said, though he shot a dry glance at M’Baku as he did.

“Freezing to death is one thing I don’t need to worry about. I might freeze, but I’ll thaw out just fine,” he said matter-of-factly, as if this was not a decidedly concerning statement.

“I’d prefer not to have to thaw you out at all,” M’Baku countered. “You came here to avoid being frozen, if I recall correctly.”

Once Bucky got his wet clothing off, his skin practically shone white in the dimness of the cave, gleaming like the rare, fine white stone that could be found in some of Wakanda’s quarries. M’Baku almost reached out to touch him, as if to reassure himself that Bucky was still flesh and bone, not some statue given life. Instead, he only reached out to wrap one blanket around Bucky’s waist, and wrapped another blanket securely around Bucky’s torso and shoulders. The hard angles of Bucky’s face softened into a smile as he thanked M’Baku, and all his resemblance to some pale statue disappeared.

“We got anything to feed a fire with in here? Or are we just gonna cuddle under a blanket and hope for the best?” asked Bucky.

“Fire? Pah. No need for a fire, we have the heat packs.”

Once they had both wrapped themselves adequately enough in the thick warming blankets, M’Baku pulled a couple of the stiff rectangular packets from one of the chests, and broke them over his knee to set off the chemical reaction enclosed in the tightly woven material. Almost immediately, heat began wafting from the packets, burning against his cold skin, and M’Baku dropped them both to the ground, where heat emanated forth from them, as warming as any fire, and without any noxious smoke. Bucky came close, gripping the blanket wrapped around him with his one hand, eyes wide with interest. He was shivering only lightly compared to M’Baku, whose teeth were chattering by now. The warming blankets were beginning to do their work though, and between the heating packs, their own shared body heat, and the blankets, they’d both soon be cozy enough.

“Some kind of chemical reaction?” Bucky asked, and M’Baku nodded.

“It will last the night and should keep us from freezing. Though cuddling, as you put it, is still called for.”

Bucky grinned and lowered himself to the bedrolls with surprising grace. “C’mon then. I’ve only got the one arm, so you’ll have to do a lot of the cuddling, but I run hot enough to make up for it.”

M’Baku joined him, and after some wriggling around to cover themselves as much as they could with more blankets, they lay close together, chest to chest, arms around each other, Bucky’s head resting on M’Baku’s shoulder. Bucky was indeed warmer than M’Baku had expected—not quite feverish hot, the way he had been last night—but close enough, and M’Baku sighed in relief as the blankets and their body heat combined to cocoon them in welcome warmth.

“These blankets feel warmer than they should,” noted Bucky.

“Ah, they are woven through with a special kind of thread that holds onto heat. They will get even warmer shortly.”

“That’s amazing,” murmured Bucky. “Tell me more about these caves? Do you keep supplies in all of them?”

It was as good a way as any to pass the time, so M’Baku indulged Bucky’s curiosity and told him of the ancient warren of caves in the mountains, how some of the tunnels were still used to travel between buildings or settlements. He paused when Bucky shifted in his arms.

“Are you comfortable lying like this on your left side?” he asked, too late realizing that even cushioned by a thin bedroll, perhaps the hard stone floor was not the best for Bucky’s left shoulder, which still had a protective covering over it.

“It’s alright. Just—lying on a cave floor isn’t the most comfortable thing.”

“If you’re warm enough, we should get up, eat something.”

“Yeah, okay. I could eat.”

The heating packs had done their work, for outside their nest of blankets, the cave was merely chilly rather than frigid. M’Baku set a couple of the torches beside their bedrolls, for it was beginning to grow too dark to see in the cave, and he and Bucky both pulled provisions from their packs, eating the simple fare quickly. Before they returned to the bedrolls, they arranged their still damp clothing over another couple of the heating packs, where they would hopefully dry off enough to wear again by morning.

By now, the bedroll was almost too warm, and they removed a couple of the blankets before settling in for a long night.

“So, got any ideas for passing the time?” asked Bucky, his tone casual, but the crinkle of his eyes was sweetly, promisingly wicked as he pressed close to M’Baku. “Or did you just want to sleep?”

“I think we can find better things to do than sleep,” said M’Baku, and was rewarded with the light stroke of Bucky’s hand on his cock, the sheer gentleness of the touch making all of M’Baku’s skin come alive, zinging into arousal. “And better ways to stay warm too.”

Bucky’s smile deepened, and he leaned in for a slow and deep kiss, a little too hungry to be languorous, and all the more appealing for it, the kiss’s passion a delightfully maddening contrast to the light, calloused hand on his cock. M’Baku’s cock stirred, and Bucky hummed happily into his mouth before he pulled away, eyes gone heavy-lidded.

“Yeah, I thought so,” said Bucky, and after another demanding kiss, he finally took firmer hold of M’Baku’s cock.

* * *

Given their constrained circumstances, they weren’t quite able to reach the pleasantly exhausting heights of their last assignation, but M’Baku didn’t mind. There was something to be said for this more languid pleasure, for rocking against each other long and slow, for the heat and friction of their hands, for spending in a climax that came in one long, slow release of tension, like easing into a hot spring and letting the water hold you.

* * *

They dozed for a while, after, but true sleep eluded both of them. It wasn’t worry keeping M’Baku up—Lindiwe had reported that Mayowa and the others had been successfully rescued, and that they and the search party were all safely returned to the city—but rather a restlessness that had no outlet in their current confines. Even the soothing warm weight of another body beside his wasn’t enough to ease it.

“Can’t sleep?” rumbled Bucky.

“No,” admitted M’Baku. “And you?”

He felt Bucky’s shoulders move in a shrug, though Bucky didn’t lift his head from where it rested against M’Baku’s chest. “Don’t need as much sleep as most,” he said, and M’Baku remembered that he had been sitting up last night when M’Baku had woken in the small hours of the night.

“So entertain me. Tell me of your homeland, your people.”

“What, America? Kind of a big ask there. I haven’t exactly spent much time there in the last few decades.”

“Your city then, as you knew it.”

Bucky shifted, breathed in and out slowly, as if counting it out. His hand clenched into a fist where it had been resting lightly on M’Baku’s hip.

“It’s been a long, long time since I was back there,” he said eventually, the barest hint of a tremor in his low voice. “Never got to go home, after the war. Though I’m not sure there’s such a thing as after the war. Not for me, anyway.” For the first time since they’d gotten under the blankets, M’Baku felt a chill. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. Before he could give Bucky a graceful exit from this apparently fraught question, Bucky continued, “But alright. I’m from Brooklyn, New York’s best borough and don’t let anyone tell you different…”

The rhythms of Bucky’s storytelling were unfamiliar to M’Baku’s ear, but compelling nonetheless. Bucky had loved his city, and he spoke of it now with the keen memory and sharp grief of an exile who had no hope of return, and all throughout, he described it as if he’d always seen his homeland through two pairs of eyes: his own, and this Steve’s he’d spoken of, until the two things became inextricable in his telling—Brooklyn and Steve, Steve and Brooklyn. It seemed a risky proposition, to make a home of one person, rather than a place or a tribe, but then M’Baku supposed he was blessed, in comparison. Perhaps this was why T’Challa was so set on offering this man a home in Wakanda.

“Would you truly never return to your Brooklyn?” asked M’Baku, when Bucky’s remembrances trailed off. “Even if this fugitive business was no longer troubling you?”

“It wouldn’t be the same. My Brooklyn’s 70 years gone. And I’m not the same, either. So—it wouldn’t be a return.”

“There’s still your Steve though,” said M’Baku carefully.

Bucky made an inarticulate noise of furious grief. “He’s not the same either. You ask me, everyone asks me, do you want to _return_ , do you want to go _back,_ go home—to Steve, to Brooklyn, and I don’t know how to—there’s no going _back._ It’s not _there_ anymore, not really. There’s just _now_ , there’s just—what’s left of me. And me and Steve, we haven’t got a damn thing between us but—but the war, now. And I can’t. I _can’t_.”

M’Baku hadn’t intended for his questioning to lance a long-festering wound, but now that he had, it was his duty to offer comfort for the pain that followed. So he held Bucky close, and offered what comfort he could, hoping the bitter poison of this wound would run clear in time.

But if M’Baku had a duty to comfort, he had a duty to heal too, to bind up this wound in the hope that it would heal clean, so he said, “Forgive me if I presume too much, but, from the way you spoke of this Brooklyn and of Steve, it seems to me that you two have more than war. You have each other. You have a future. Or you could, if you contacted him.”

Bucky sniffed once, and squeezed M’Baku in a warning sort of fashion. “You’re kind of pushy and nosy, has anyone ever told you that?” he said, somewhat balefully, and M’Baku laughed, stroked Bucky’s hair.

“I am Lord of the Jabari. I consider getting into everyone’s business part of my duty. I’m only making a suggestion. Take it or not, as you like.”

“I’ll think about it,” muttered Bucky.

* * *

Eventually, they did sleep. Unfortunately, they dreamed too.

For the second night in a row, M’Baku returned to the battle in his dreams. This time, the battle had grown larger, the field of combat stretching as far as his eye could see, and all of it was filled with fighting Wakandans and now even foreigners, as if the whole world had descended upon the plains surrounding Mount Bashenga, and all of them were fighting.

In the actual battle, M’Baku had mastered his fear, had held it close and accepted it, before letting his courage envelop it and leading his warriors onward. Now, that rational, bearable fear of harm turned to sick terror, his heart a drumbeat that drowned out all good sense, his hand weak as it trembled to grip his staff. He had to move, he had to fight, his warriors were dying around him, they were crying out for him to join the battle, to fight, to save them—but his feet were rooted in the ground, and already, the vultures and eagles circled overhead, as if they knew he would soon be a corpse for their feast. His enemies—why were they even his enemies though?—raised their weapons against him, and still, M’Baku couldn’t move, could only flinch and cower—

“M’Baku, wake up. Wake up, you’re only dreaming, you’re alright, it’s alright.”

Just like last night, he woke with a gasp to the sight of Bucky leaning over him, his hand splayed on M’Baku’s chest. M’Baku found that he was gripping Bucky’s wrist too tightly by far, tight enough to bruise, surely, and yet he could not let go, as his lungs heaved, still convinced there was not enough air. Fear’s drumbeat was only now beginning to fade, slowly, as he remembered where he was: the avalanche, the cave, Bucky.

“Easy now,” soothed Bucky. “It’s okay. You’re fine, we’re fine.”

Bucky lay back down, shifting and shuffling them both so that his chest was to M’Baku’s back, and he breathed deep and slow and even for a while, until M’Baku’s own breath eased.

“I’m fine,” M’Baku said, belatedly, and Bucky hummed dubiously.

“Sure. Just another dream, right?”

“I dislike this sarcasm of yours,” grumbled M’Baku, and received a quick warm kiss on the nape of his neck in apology.

“Dreaming of the battle again?”

“Yes,” admitted M’Baku.

“That’s two nights in a row,” murmured Bucky. “You talking to any healers about that?”

“It’s nothing worth troubling the healers with.”

“Well, can I make a suggestion?” asked Bucky, and M’Baku grunted. He supposed he deserved it. “You should trouble the healers. Take it from this old soldier, it’ll only get worse otherwise.”

“It was one battle,” protested M’Baku. “It was hard-fought and honorably won, there were few casualties. I suffered no injuries.”

There was no reason for it to trouble him so still, no reason for his dream self to keep losing a battle he had already won.

“Was it your first battle though?” Bucky’s voice was steady and calm, no judgment in it, and yet, it needled at M’Baku.

“I’m no green youth,” he snapped.

“Didn’t say you were,” said Bucky, still mild. “Was it your first real battle?” he asked again.

M’Baku had trained hard all his life, had maintained a warrior’s discipline, but he had done so more out of honor and out of caution than out of need; the Jabari fought most of their battles against the harshness of the elements. So while M’Baku had of course fought off the occasional trespassing foreigner, and poachers and the like, and he had challenged T’Challa, those weren’t true _battles_. Certainly, they were nothing compared to the years Bucky had spent at war then held captive, less than nothing, even, compared to the cruelties M’Baku had seen in reports T’Challa had provided to the Council.

Still, he was forced to admit, “Yes.”

“So, what, you think that means you should be able to shake it off? That’s not how it works.”

“Why do I feel as if I am about to be lectured by an elder,” said M’Baku.

“Because you are,” said Bucky, and this was sufficiently galling to make M’Baku turn around to face Bucky, who only looked back, calm but exhausted. In the dim light of the one torch they had left lit, his eyes were pools of gray shadow, his face lined with enough weariness and pain that he almost did look like he could be M’Baku’s elder. Perhaps M’Baku had not been the only one woken by a nightmare tonight. “If there’s one damn thing I know in this swiss cheese brain of mine, it’s that war fucks you up. Any war, no matter how short. I spent the whole damn war feeling like—like some kinda poison was eating me up from the inside out, turning me hollow, and I didn’t tell a damned soul, and I should’ve, alright? Don’t make my mistake.”

M’Baku wanted to protest, wanted to deny Bucky’s words, but in this, he truly was M’Baku’s elder, and M’Baku did generally _try_ to listen to his elders. And yet, he found himself reluctant. 

“The Lord of the Jabari should not need to see a healer after one battle where he didn’t even take a wound.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “The Lord of the Jabari should set a better example for his own warriors, or else none of them will get help when they need it. Unless you’d tell them to suck it up and deal with it too.”

“I would do no such thing.”

“Uh huh. Just think about it, is all I’m saying, or it might be the next real battle that you’re freezing up in, not just your nightmares.”

Now there was a grim possibility. M’Baku grimaced and said, “As you say, I’ll think about it.”

* * *

M’Baku didn’t manage more than a fitful doze until morning, too caught up in considering Bucky’s words, and the wisdom of them. M’Baku’s pride told him that surely it was only a matter of time until his first experience with battle stopped troubling him so: did he seek a healer for every bruise and scrape? No, he let them heal on their own. Or perhaps he only needed to grow accustomed to battle. But he didn’t particularly _want_ to grow accustomed to battle, was working even now to avoid the necessity of warfare by reuniting with the other tribes of Wakanda, by establishing Wakanda in a position of open strength. And Bucky’s words had merit too: if he would not consider this a weakness in his warriors, why should he consider it a weakness in himself? What did his duty demand of him, he wondered, and could come to no certain conclusion.

* * *

When morning came, so too did word of rescue: the storm had passed, with no further avalanches or rock slides. Lindiwe and a group of warriors had M’Baku and Bucky freed from the cave by the midday meal, and they returned to Hanuman’s City without further incident. The rest of Bucky’s stay with the Jabari passed without incident too, for he was a good guest, polite and considerate, ready to both learn and teach with patient diligence, earning outright fondness from some and polite acceptance at worst. He’d been a good choice of outsider to offer hospitality to, thought M’Baku with satisfaction.

Bucky remained a good bed partner too, though they didn’t spend every night together; they had, it seemed, by mutual and largely silent agreement, settled on the comfortable middle between fleeting, casual pleasure and something more serious. No promises were made, nor were they expected, but friendship and comfort came easily enough, so easily that M’Baku would miss Bucky when he left, though it wasn’t as if he would be so far away. And, thought M’Baku, there were always the kimoyo beads. Those, he intended to use, and to distribute to the rest of the Jabari as well.

After two more nights of disturbed sleep, and a good deal of “thinking about it”, M’Baku’s pride gave way to his good sense and duty: he spoke with the healer Anahita, who assured him there was no shame or weakness in his belated reaction to the battle. _I’m glad you came to me,_ she said with a smile. _Some fears and hurts are better faced in the full light of day._

* * *

“Never let it be said that I don’t listen to my elders,” said M’Baku when he joined Bucky for dinner.

“Oh? How’s that?” asked Bucky mildly, the fall of his hair hiding his face as he filled his plate with food.

“Your suggestion has been accepted. I spoke with the healer Anahita today.”

“I’m glad,” said Bucky, and pushed his hair back as he smiled at M’Baku.

It was, M’Baku was not embarrassed to admit, a somewhat more arresting expression than it usually was, and it was already plenty arresting enough to see such a usually solemn man smile. Bucky looked different this evening, lighter, perhaps, or maybe younger, a sunlight on the river kind of sparkle in his eyes.

“What’s this then?” asked M’Baku.

“What’s what?”

“This,” he said, tapping gently at the happy creases at the corner of Bucky's eye. “Someone is happy today.”

Bucky swatted at his hand half-heartedly, the happy crinkles only deepening as a flush rose on his cheeks.

“I might’ve taken your suggestion too. I called Steve.”

“And?”

“He’s on his way to Wakanda already, the idiot,” said Bucky with fond exasperation. “Took me five minutes to convince him to at least wait a couple days ’til the UN delegation clears out.” Bucky looked down at his plate, still flushed and smiling. “Thank you. For, you know. Listening, that night, and for the suggestion.”

“I thank you too for yours. Hathor’s List has, I think, exceeded expectations for both of us.”

Bucky nodded, forcing his expression back into solemnity, though his eyes sparkled with merry wickedness.

“We’ll have to send Shuri a thank you gift or something. Or…” Bucky tilted his head, that wolf grin on his lips again. “Would it cause a diplomatic incident if we told her we’ve gotten engaged?”

M’Baku threw his head back and laughed, long and loud and full, and Bucky’s laughter joined his in sweet counterpart.

“Don’t tempt me, it almost certainly would,” M’Baku told him. “And even so, it might be worth it for the look on T’Challa and Shuri’s faces.”

Ifedayo leaned across the table, shamelessly eavesdropping. “It would only be a very _little_ diplomatic incident,” she said, eyes wide and encouraging, and M’Baku and Bucky dissolved into laughter again.

 _Thank you, Hathor,_ thought M’Baku, and hoped this joy won free of strife and sorrow was its own kind of prayer.


End file.
